Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall, Which hung in a murky old nitch in the wall. O softly tread, said Christabel, My father seldom sleepeth well. Sweet Christabel her feet she bares, And they are creeping up the stairs; And now have reach'd her chamber door; The moon shines dim in the open air, And not a moonbeam enters here. But they without its light can see The chamber carv'd so curiously, Carv'd with figures strange and sweet, All made out of the carver's brain, For a lady's chamber meet: The lamp with twofold silver chain Is fasten'd to an angel's feet. The silver lamp burns dead and dim ; She trimm'd the lamp, and made it bright, And left it swinging to and fro, While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Sank down upon the floor below. O weary lady, Geraldine, I pray you, drink this cordial wine! It is a wine of virtuous powers; My mother made it of wild flowers. And will your mother pity me, Who am a maiden most forlorn? Christabel answer'd-Woe is me! She died the hour that I was born. I have heard the gray-hair'd friar tell, But soon with alter'd voice, said she- Why stares she with unsettled eye? And why with hollow voice cries she, 66 66 Though thou her guardian spirit be, 'Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me." Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, The lady wip'd her moist cold brow, Again the wild-flower wine she drank : Like a lady of a far countrée. And thus the lofty lady spake Do love you, holy Christabel! And you love them, and for their sake And for the good which me befel, Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well. Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie. Quoth Christabel, so let it be! And as the lady bade, did she. Her gentle limbs did she undress, And lay down in her loveliness. But thro' her brain of weal and woe So many thoughts mov'd to and fro, That vain it were her lids to close; So half-way from the bed she rose, And on her elbow did recline To look at the lady Geraldine. Beneath the lamp the lady bow'd, And slowly roll'd her eyes around; C |